A fugitive chameleon sits on my window sill
daily, ceding the space horizon to thickness
of delusion; wants to decimate the infamous
rotting image of man, shining everyday in lush
damaging gossips. A perfect imperfection of treachery
to attack the hapless blade of grass who cannot
stand erect in a gale of glory of tall trees.
The star-glint overwhelms a prophet of dust.
A goddess enters the labyrinth of anthologies.
The smile that sets to sail a thousand slogans-
flies from infinity to the branches of flesh.
And the rivals collapse like dark alchemy
without qualms, naked and speechless.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem